


Den's Mist

by PTWL



Series: Kinktober-2019 [20]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Dirty Talk, Kinktober 2019, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Not Beta Read, Opium Den Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning, Slut Shaming, Steampunk, Verbal Humiliation, Victorian, hot-dogging, is that a tag?, or Ass Job, well now it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-11-28 16:49:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20969831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PTWL/pseuds/PTWL
Summary: Hans is sitting on the floor, head resting idly on Issac’s thigh as he pulls a long drag from the water pipe. He can watch as he opens his lips slowly to let the steam out in a white cloud. He empties his lungs completely and lets his head fall further back on Issac’s crotch, raising his hand to offer him the mouthpiece. He takes it but Issac is barely paying attention to the taste of the mix he has already grown used to. He’ll need something stronger or to distract himself for a while. He decides against the first option. Thankfully, Doctor Schwensenn is awfully distracting and he rarely is against some good entertainment.[Day 20: Hot-Dogging | Dirty talk ]





	Den's Mist

**Author's Note:**

> Ultra mega duper late but here we are. I had like nine episodes the same day so I'm fucking exhausted and I not really satisfied about how this came out but it's better than nothing, I guess?  
Whatever. Enjoy my suffering.

Hans is sitting on the floor, head resting idly on Issac’s thigh as he pulls a long drag from the water pipe. He can watch as he opens his lips slowly to let the steam out in a white cloud. He empties his lungs completely and lets his head fall further back on Issac’s crotch, raising his hand to offer him the mouthpiece. He takes it but Issac is barely paying attention to the taste of the mix he has already grown used to. He’ll need something stronger or to distract himself for a while. He decides against the first option. Thankfully, Doctor Schwensenn is awfully distracting and he rarely is against some good entertainment.

So he gives him a soft tap with the tip of his shoe on the thigh and Hans turns around, blinking. His eyes are slightly red from smoking and his lips swollen from holding into the mouthpiece for too long. He left his coat and jacket aside when they entered the private room of the den and so had Issac. Even his beret found its way to the bench. “What do you even want now?” When the Doctor’s mind is light from alcohol or opiates, his accent becomes thicker, even if he’s often careful to not let it slip out.

They won’t have that much of a chance once they go back to Issac’s home, with his little siblings and cousins around even if they sleep at the studio, at least not this early in the night. “Come over here.” He orders plainly with another soft kick. And he can tell Hans is excited as soon as he hears his words thanks to a brief glimpse in his eyes. He is an utterly shameless man, greedy and immoral even a man like Issac.

He stands and Issac takes a small puff as he quickly strips himself from his trousers and his underwear. The Doctor is only wearing his shirt and waistcoat, as well as his socks and their suspenders. He likes those. Hans sits on Issac’s lap like a good little pet and he gives him a kiss, stealing the boiling steam right from his mouth.

“Greedy little whore…” Issac mutters against his lips when he pulls apart, content. Hans loves when Issac talks him down like that. He adores just the right amount of pain, of being insulted and humiliated. Despite being older than Issac, he is the one than ends up more often than not kneeling on the floor or presenting his ass like a bitch in heat. Thankfully, their meetings are short-lived considering Hans’ unending travels, or Issac would have gone mad by now in his attempt to placate such ravenous beast.

They stay like that for a while, smoking idly together in vastly different states of undress. Issac lets Hans guide the mouthpiece in and out of his lips’ reach so he can fondle and grope his behind comfortably with both hands. Hans moans eagerly even at the slightest touch, like a common hooker despite being a well-regarded researcher in the neurosurgery field. Issac adores being able to see that part of him and not only the easy-going charming Doctor most know. It makes him feel different even if he is wholly aware that he isn’t the only one. An insatiable man like Hans must have many partners he relies on spread all over the continent so they meet on his constant journeys. But it’s not like Issac cares much about exclusivity either.

“Turn around.” He runs his fingers, scrapping skin and leaving small red paths. “I’m not dirting my shirt because of you.” They still need to walk home and Issac doesn’t feel like washing his clothes behind Ros’ and Hannah’s backs when he could be trying to sleep. Hans turns around compliantly, still sitting on his lap, knees bent and feet curling. Issac pulls from one of the straps of his sock suspenders and lets it go, whipping against Hans’ calf. It leaves only a dim pinkish mark and Hans hums when he rubs his thumb against it.

He shifts above him, grinding against Issac’s crotch without a trace of shame. Issac watches as he runs a hand through his blond hair, combing it back as he pants. “Keep talking, my dear. I love it when you sound so outraged.” What Hans doesn’t say is that Issac sounds outraged most of the time. He wouldn’t be surprised if that meant that Hans gets that easily aroused. He is that kind of man.

Issac decides it’s time to undo his trousers and pull them down to a safe distance so he won’t need to clean them later either. And as soon as he is out, his overeager partner begins to move. Issac hisses and holds his roughly by his hips, stropping him even as Hans struggles. “Easy there, bitch.” He likes when Hans chuckles at the affront and pulls him closer, dragging him through his lap until his dick lays flat against his cheeks.

“And what if this bitch doesn’t?” He answers cockily, grinding against Issac despite his grip. He even glances at him above his shoulder with a self-assured smirk.

Issac groans, annoyed and begins to move against him. “Hell, punishing you would be useless.” He knows and, judging by Hans’ laughter, he knew so too. “Aren’t you content with having a good reputation that you have to be worse than a country whore too?” Of course, he isn’t. Hans does everything he does with great intention and pursuit in mind, always mindful and focused. Who cares if his current interest is studying a specific area of the brain or taking in a cock?

And Hans moans when Issac parts his cheeks with his thumbs, accommodating himself between them. “I love punishment, Issy.” He mocks him, using the pet name only his sister Hannah calls her grumpy older brother. “And I like being both.”

He knows. Hans told him years ago that, as his thesis covered such a controversial topic, he needed some internal assistance. So Hans made an arrangement with his thesis director. Issac is pretty sure that, not even on a worst-case scenario, he would be able to hurt him or talk him down as he used to. And it should probably worry him more than it does. He presses his cheeks together, adjusting the pressure as Hans moves up and down like he would do if he were inside him. Maybe later, when they are home late, laying on the floor atop a blanket and between books.

And, even if Issac hasn’t touched him yet, Hans whines like he is going to thaw at any moment when Issac slaps him. His breath sounds shaky as he carefully caresses the beaten spot, still rutting into him. “Listen to yourself:” Issac finds it amusing how Hans lets his head fall to one side, exposing himself. Hans is often way too melodramatic and, most of the time, that gets on Issac’s already heated nerves. However, now he can’t say he dislikes how he gasps when Issac bites down on his nape, trying to drive him up the wall and Issac has to give him the merit of almost doing so.

So he grasps him, rounding his prick so Hans can rut into his hand every time he moves. That rips an appreciative him out of him and he adjusts his weight over Issac, hands gripping Issac’s knees for greater support. Hans knows how he sounds, he knows how he looks, he knows how to carry himself and he is always relishing on it, with a light chortle on the edge of his lips even as he moans wantonly when Issac circles his hips and drives him even closer. And it angers Issac how he can be played with so very easily. But he adores how that feeling fades when he nears his peak and he feels content, just like right when a shot of heroin quicks in.

Now that Hans has a new incentive to keep on moving, his iron grip on Issac’s knees only grows stronger and he does the best he can to raise himself and then fall against him. Issac grunts against the wet patch of skin where he bit earlier and that draws a feeble smile from Hans, teasing him. “Don’t.” Issac growls, driving Hans back down. That doesn’t stop him though and he throws his head back in a half-moan, half-chuckle. “Oh, shut the fuck up, will you?”

And life is Hell because Hans only laughs harder at him until his head is nearly resting on Issac’s shoulder, looking up at him even as he gasps for air. “Make me.” He mutters barely moving his lips and forcing Issac to read them.

That is like pulling from a string not-that-deep inside Issac and he enjoys the startled expression of Hans’ lovely face when he pushes him down, throwing him against the couch’s cushions. Hans groans when his face is shoved against the fabric and, now that he is on his knees, he struggles to move his hand and lift his upper half lightly from the couch.

Issac watches focused as he drags his dick between Hans’ cheeks. “You never quit talking, do you?” For once, Hans’ only answer is to snivel, raising his hips. “Do you always have to act like the know-it-all little whore you are?” Hans is easy to read once you have him half-naked and dripping into your hand. He nods and gasps and his knees tremble at every word, drinking them in and enjoying them more than any half-decent person would ever think about. He can get overwhelming to Issac too but this? He is surprisingly alright with this too.

He is the first to go, swearing under his breath. And even after that, he gives Hans a few thrusts more now that he is sleeker, forehead against his shoulder blades and one arm keeping him from collapsing atop of him. Issac is often quick to anger but he feels empty now, spent and relaxed. Issac looks down and realizes that some of his cum has stained the edge of Hans’ shirt. So he gets up in a rushed barrage of cuss words as he reaches for his napkin to clean it off.

Hans whimpers at the lost contact. Yet Issac does his best to end this quickly so he can pull him again on his lap and allow him to finish himself off as he reaches again for the water pipe’s mouthpiece. He takes a long drag as Hans leans against him, whining. So Issac offers him the heavily diluted opium pipe. He likes how that small puff of steam floats from his mouth and dissolves into the musty-smelling air.

He watches, entertained, as Hans grows weaker and softer against him once he is done, satisfied at least until they get home. They have no issue staying there for a while longer, sharing the remnant of the pipe in easy companionship until Hans finally grunts in displeasure, once his spent is long cooled.

“Home?” Issac mutters with his eyes closed. He has work tomorrow morning and, as much as he would like to stay a while longer, it must be already later than they would have wanted. Still, he runs an idle finger through Hans’ come-sullied pubic hair.

He hums peacefully. “Must we?” He asks, throwing Issac’s way a little pitiful glance. He almost feels like giving in. Almost.

So he gives Hans a gentle stroke on his limp cock that has him shivering. “Shall I insist?”

And Issac should have foreseen Hans’ answer because he immediately says: “Please, do.”

Even if that makes him laugh like there is no tomorrow, Issac pushes him off and Hans makes an undignified squeal as he falls into the floor. “Home then.”

And Hans’ childish pout on a grown adult wears off as soon as Issac hands him his napkin to clean himself off. “Home then. And that’s a deal.” As soon as he says that, Issac knows that he’ll need an extra cup of coffee to be mildly functional in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> (seriously, guys, I'm writing the notes and I don't even fucking know how to call this??)  
Issac is my main OC in a rp with a friend of mine (but because he is ignoring my pleas for rp, even if we talk fairly often, here I am). Hans...welp, Hans hasn't showed up yet but he will soon (or would, if we actually rp-ed ever).  
(Seriously, Luis, come on, man, you little fucker)
> 
> (just wrote the title and I don't care anymore about anything, just said fuck it and wrote the first thing that came to my mind)  
See you soon!
> 
> P.S.: Luis, seriously... Welp, you know how this goes right?


End file.
